Right, so I’m starting a new blog…again. I’ve got writer’s block so really, there isn’t much that I can do at the moment. Maybe this will be a place for all my miscellaneous writings.
The lake is calm. There is not a ripple, a breeze. The mountain looms above everything. It gazes serenely into the mirror of the lake’s surface, as if it is contemplating its reflection. The wild flowers give off their perfume. I trudge through the greenery. Burs and seeds stick to my clothing. I walk on, crushing young green leaves beneath my feet. The morning dew wets the bottom of my jeans. The air is cool and crisp, laced with the scent of mist, remainders from the evening. My breath comes out in a pale cloud of steam. Everything is silent, except for the few morning call of birds. A shadow falls over the land. There is the beating of giant wings. I look up. There, more magnificent than any human creation, is something which exists only in the imagination of children. A dragon, its scales gleaming in the pale morning light like overlapping plates of gold. Its eyes gleam like burning jewels and its claws are sabers. It circles and finally lands on top of the mountain. We regard each other. Understanding passes between us. It nods its assent. I go on. Today, I’ll have something to put on my page.
Frances Leigh: A life in surreality 